


Not For Love Or Credits

by ShyMikka



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Gen, Light Side Sith Warrior (Star Wars), Manumission, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Relationship, Slavery, Torture, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:02:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29730150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShyMikka/pseuds/ShyMikka
Summary: Vette had certain expectations when she was given to a Sith. She should have known better. Her life has always been too weird to follow a script.This will be updated approximately whenever I have time.
Relationships: Female Sith Warrior/Vette
Kudos: 16





	1. No Gods, No Masters, No Collars

The shuttle to Vaiken Station was crowded. Unfortunately, most of the crowd were Sith, which meant that newly minted Apprentice Chas’sul couldn’t just demand a window seat. She hid her disappointment, because, again, a shuttle full of Sith. Weakness of any sort was almost asking to be challenged. She led Vette towards the back of the transport, where the seats were less comfortable, but where there were less Red Sith sneering at them.

“You seem tense,” the Twi’lek said lightly, “I mean, more than usual. You’re wound pretty tight normally, but this is more like overcharging a blaster pack until it starts smoking.”

“Keep your voice down. This is a shuttle full of Darths, Lords, and Apprentices who’ve been actual apprentices for more than fourteen hours. Any of them can kill us on a whim.” Chas’sul explained. “So yes, _I’m tense_."

Vette looked like she was going to say something, but by some force miracle she changed her mind. Chas’sul wasn’t especially worried about herself, but Vette was wearing a collar. If she accidentally set off one of the Lords, she’d be killed, and ‘Sul would maybe get a cred chip to replace her with.

Who was she kidding, she’d known Vette for less than a day, and she already knew that the thief would set someone off intentionally.

The thrusters kicked in, and she felt the ship start moving. She was sure she’d been in space before, but she didn’t remember it. Her childhood before the academy was a haze. She remembered feelings, mostly. _Love_ , she remembered that. She tried not to, because that feeling was so tied to _fear_ and _rage_. They were useful feelings for a Sith, but they felt so hot that she was afraid of burning herself out, like one of the cheap heaters at the camps.

The first glimpses of the unending universe she saw were mostly blocked by the helmets of a squad of troopers. She snorted, and reminded herself that metaphors were stupid.

***

Vette knew her way around Vaiken, which was good. Chas’sul was fairly overwhelmed by the raw emotion of the place. There wasn’t just fear, or anger, or hate! Korriban was so soaked in the dark side that it was hard to sense anything else. Vaiken was _lush_.

“When was the last time you ate, Vette?”

“Uh, yesterday, I think?” She was obviously surprised. ‘Sul doubted that anyone had ever asked her that.

“Let’s hit a cantina, then.”

Vette took them through the corridors quickly. Chas’sul saw a stand selling tools, and stopped to make a quick purchase. Vette was quick to notice, but she didn’t say anything. Chas’sul approved. She was happy that she wasn’t going to have to spend too much time on situational awareness with her.

The place Vette took them to was a greasy spoon. Nice, anonymous, no one paying attention to the folks around them. A decent number of the patrons were nonhuman, which was a bonus. The tables were arranged for a good amount of privacy. She smiled. This was a good place for a thief to eat, or meet.

“Get whatever you want.” she said, nodding at the menu. She picked out the biggest breakfast platter the place offered, and then hit the button for extra hot sauce.

“So, hey-” the Twi’lek started, but Chas’sul raised her hand and stopped her.

“Before you say anything, we need to get that collar off of you.”

For once, Vette had nothing to say. Chas’sul pulled out the control box and opened it up with the toolkit she’d bought. A few seconds later, the collar made an audible click. She slid the control across the table to the stunned girl.

“I hate these things.” Chas’sul said conversationally. “Almost as much as I hate the Empire’s slave policy.”

“I...uh...thank you?”

“You should know, as much as I want to, I can’t free you. But I _am_ very distractible. I haven’t been to Vaiken before, so I could hardly be blamed if a slave with a history of escape attempts managed to slip away.”

Oh, she could be blamed, but Vette didn’t need to know that. Besides, she could take whatever punishment Baras came up with for losing his ‘gift’, if her master even noticed.

“Wait, and I’m not saying I’m sticking around, but why not just fill out the manumission flimsiwork? That would save me a lot of hassle down the line.”

“What do you know about Darth Baras?”

“He wears a really stupid helmet?”

“He’s a Sith, but he’s not just any Sith. He serves directly under the Dark Council. He can, and most likely will kill anyone who annoys him. I’ve been his apprentice for a day. I’m easily replaceable. If I manumit you, I’m effectively rejecting his-,” and here she made air quotes, “generosity.”

“And then he kills you.”

“And then he kills me. I’m not important enough, or human enough, to get a warning.”

“Won’t he just kill you for losing me?"

Chas’sul sighed. She’d hoped that Vette wouldn’t look behind the gift bantha’s horns.

“Probably not. Outright rejecting him, sure, but being careless? There might be some punishment, but it’s nothing I haven’t taken before.”

Vette looked off in the middle distance. Chas’sul left her to her thoughts. A droid brought their food by, and they ate in silence.

“Well, “ Chas’ul said casually, sipping the last of her caf, “That was delicious. I’m going to hit the ‘fresher. I ate a lot of grease, so I’ll probably be at least ten minutes.”

***

Fifteen minutes later, Vette is still at the table. This is, to say the least, unexpected. The Twi’lek is fiddling with her blasters, so maybe she was planning on trying to kill her. On closer inspection, she looked like she was rewinding an induction coil. So, probably not planning on killing her.

“I’m not putting the collar on,” she says without looking up, “and I’m definitely not calling you master. Not for love or credits. Or for keeping up this charade.”

“That’s fair.”

“There are lines I don’t cross.” Vette looks up, finally. “But it looks like there are lines you won’t cross either. I’ll let you know if I see any of mine coming if you return the favor.”

“I can do that.”

“Great! Now, I may have counted your credits while I was thinking about fucking off to Hutt space, so I know that we’ve got enough to get both of us some decent clothes.”

“Oh, well, I may have taken some credits with me when I went to the ‘fresher, you know, for reasons.”

“Yeah, well, I may have been thinking about fucking off to Hutt space back on Korriban, before you tried to slip a bunch of credits in your pants without me noticing.” She smiles, then. “You are not subtle, by the way. Leave the scoundrelling to me. Also, I though being a Sith paid better than this? Or are you just terrible with credits?”

“Being a Sith doesn’t pay at all. That, my friend, is the result of years of doing odd jobs for Sith Lords and occasionally cheating at pazaak.”

“Yeesh. I can make this work. If we’re going to be partners, we need to look good.”

“We’re partners, then?” Chas’sul tried to make her voice sound friendly. Training to be a Sith didn’t really make that easy.

“Only if you let me be your fashion sense. You Sith types go overboard.”

“Lead the way, but be warned, I want at least one outfit with a cape.”

“Ugh, fine.”


	2. Real Sith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting to know a Sith is hard, especially if you're a mouthy twi'lek. The constant fear of getting choked to death makes small talk rough, but with enough caf and baked goods, anything is possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: this chapter describes torture done to a child without going into details. None of the characters we're following do the torture.

“-wait, do Sith even fuck?” Vette asks. The twi’lek has been talking for a while. Chas’sul has been tuning her out. This may have been a mistake. “Or is that too normal?”

“Well, given that there are prominent Sith bloodlines, I’m pretty sure at least some Sith do.” Thank the force she’s always been quick on her feet.

“Man, I don’t know. I’ve seen enough now that I’m not sure you all haven’t figured out some other way to reproduce. Budding, maybe?” She gets a distracted look in her eyes. Her lekku are twitching mischievously. “Genetic similarity would explain the penchant for capes and drama…”

“Vette, if it will make you stop talking, I can personally assure you that Sith fuck.”

“Still not sure. I mean, okay, I’m willing to accept that Sith _reproduce_ , but that doesn’t mean they fuck. I mean, I can’t imagine a Sith just waggling their eyebrows and trying to get someone to get frisky with ‘em.” She takes a drink from the mug in front of her. For once, they’re not in a cantina. Chas’sul had found the bakery earlier that week.

“I could,” Chas’sul pauses to take a sip of her caf, “but I don’t have to.” She smiles her knowing smile.

Vette’s spit take is worth the price of the two fancy cafs she’d bought.

“Wait, were you the waggler or the wagglee?” she asks once she’s collected herself.

“Yes.”

“TMI, but that doesn’t count!” the twi’lek pouts, “You’re not even a real Sith-”

The sudden look of terror in Vette’s eyes breaks Chas’sul’s hearts. She’s not against people being terrified of her in general, it can come in handy. But she’s starting to think of Vette as a friend, and she can’t bear the thought of terrifying her friends. It’s the downside of being Sith. People are scared of you.

“Yes, well, the folks at the academy saw the red skin and called it good.” Chas’sul isn’t sure if the humor is going to help, but it’s all she has. “They were behind schedule and didn’t check for the weird facial cartilage.”

Vette laughs, but it’s a forced laugh. Her heart’s not in it. They haven’t known each other for that long, there isn’t trust yet. ‘Sul is working on that. It’s going to take time. Vette is still technically her slave, after all, and Chas’sul remembers that slaves can never, and should never, trust their masters.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Vette says, softly. “I just mean, you’re, well, not totally crazy.”

“I know.” Chas’sul is just as quiet. “Hells, half the time I don’t feel like a real Sith.” She tries hard not to think about how people treat her, how half the Order assumes that she’s a slave and the other half pretends she doesn’t exist. It’s how it’s always been, after all.

***

Dromund Kaas is wet. Even when it isn’t raining, the humidity of the jungle permeates everything. Chas’sul prefers it dry. Someday, she muses, she’ll get to go to Tatooine. People say the sand there is terrible, but she spent _years_ on Korriban, and she knows how to deal with sand.

She and Vette are trudging out of the jungle, where it is somehow even more wet than in the city, but also full of gundarks. She hopes that this is all going to be worth it. It probably won’t, but a little hope never killed anyone. Well, maybe an Inquisitor could kill someone with hope. They’re weird like that.

The force is smiling on her. Sandor buys the whole thing, hook, line, and detonator. Now if only she can get the gundark blood out of her tunic. It hasn’t dried yet, because, again, Dromund Kaas is wet. At least the taxis here are piloted by droids. That means she doesn’t have to keep repeating that almost none of this blood is hers.

Vette has been weirdly quiet for a lot of this little side trip. It’s worrying. She’s usually really upbeat, but ever since Sandor started being creepy at them, she’s toned it way down. She hardly said anything at the cult’s compound. Chas’sul was worried.

Back in the city, they stopped by their hostel to change. Technically, Chas’sul could use the Sith dormitories, but if she did, Vette would be consigned to the slave quarters. She had no intention of allowing that to happen, so, hostel it was. The room had two beds, a shared refresher, and a lock that was really more the idea of security than actually secure. ‘Sul had made sure to wear her cape and prominently display her lightsaber for the first few days there. It seemed to have worked, as they hadn’t been robbed yet.

“Baked goods.” she said simply, once they were less filthy.

A short walk later and they were at Five Blossom Bakery. Unlike much of Kaas City’s food culture, Five Blossom didn’t hesitate to have food from other cultures. Chas’sul was particularly fond of the lava rolls. She and Vette were rapidly becoming regulars.

“My lord.” Chas’sul sighed. She’d been wearing her saber and cape when she found the place.

“Maree, I’m not a lord. You may call me by my name.”

“I’ll consider it practice for when you are a lord, my lord.” Maree smiled. Chas’sul wasn’t sure if the baker was playing a game with her or if she was just very good at hiding her fear of the Sith.

Lava rolls and caf safely acquired, she and Vette make their way to the open air courtyard behind the bakery. Someone, Maree, probably, has done a fantastic job of landscaping the small space. There are only a few tables back here, but it’s much quieter than either the bakery proper or the sidewalk out front. 

‘Sul considers her words carefully. They are alone, but she doesn’t want to risk anything unnecessarily.

“Vette,” she says carefully, “the offer I made you on Vaiken Station still stands.”

The twi’lek looks up from her crisp-munchies. ‘Sul can feel her confusion in the force.

“I mean, you don’t have to take it, obviously. But you’ve seemed...off? For the last few days?” Chas’sul suddenly feels like she’s messed up, somehow.

“Why did you lie to Darth Creeper?” The question comes out of nowhere.

“First of all, I’m pretty sure he wasn’t a Darth-” she starts to deflect, but then stops herself. She’s trying to build trust. “It’s complicated.”

Vette doesn’t have eyebrows, but she’s obviously spent a lot of time around people who do. Chas’sul knows this because Vette has just managed to raise a nonexistent eyebrow at her.

“Because of his master.” she finally says. It’s the truth. Vette doesn’t respond, just takes a drink of her caf and waits.

“You’re not the first person to say I’m not a real Sith. I know you were joking! I’m not mad. It’s just, there are things that Sith are supposed to do that I can’t, or I’m really bad at, or I just don’t want to do.”

She takes a drink of her own caf. She’s never really talked about this before. She leans in to the fear, channels it, guides it, uses it to force the words out of her stupid brain.

“I don’t do force lightning. At all. And that’s the quintessential Sith thing, right? Have a problem? Shoot it full of lightning! Someone talks back? Lightning! Thing is, I used to be able to. At the academy, when we started learning, it was easy. Lightning is just passion made manifest, and I’ve never had a problem being passionate.”

“What happened?”

“Darth Charnus, Sandor’s master, happened. Did you know he’s Darth Decimus’ second?” Vette looks confused. “Darth Decimus is on the Dark Council. That makes Charnus one of the most powerful people in the Empire.”

The one nice thing about being apprenticed to Baras is that he ranks just as high as Charnus, which means she’ll either never have to deal with the man, or if he messes with her she’ll be able to fight back.

“So, at the academy, you sometimes get guest lecturers. It’s a status thing. Look at me, I’m important enough to teach the next generation of Sith. When I was maybe thirteen, Charnus came to teach us about lightning.”

She has to stop, for a moment, to collect herself. She knows that she’s safe, that Charnus isn’t here, that all that’s left of him are the scars, but she also knows that if she sees him again, she’ll either kill him or freeze.

“He paired people, had them call the lightning at each other.” She notices Vette’s concern and adds quickly, “We were kids, and we were new at this, so it wasn’t that dangerous. But we had an odd number of acolytes. And he wanted to _demonstrate_ the proper form.”

“Oh no…” Vette whispers. She has no idea at this point what Vette’s face is doing, because she’s clamped her eyes shut.

“He never bothered to hide his speciesism. He just pointed at me and said ‘I’ll demonstrate on horns’ and then hit me, full force, no holes barred. Over and over and over. I screamed, I think. Some of the other acolytes started asking questions, and he’d answer, and he’d demonstrate.”

She takes another drink of caf.

“I ended up in the med center the first night. They told me one of my hearts had stopped.”

Another sip. If she can taste caf, she’s fine.

“He taught for a week. On the second day, he sewed my mouth shut. I guess he was tired of my screaming. I was in the med center every night. By the time he left, I had permanent damage.” She gestures to the two scars running perpendicularly across her lips. “Those, yeah. But also in my brain. They think it’s why I can’t call the lightning anymore.”

She opens her eyes, and thank the force, Vette isn’t _pitying_ her. She doesn’t think she could handle pity. Of course, Vette was a slave, so she’s probably seen worse.

“So, what, you lied to Lord Goatee to get him to kill his boss?”

“No!” she almost shouts.

“Maybe” she whispers, a moment later.

Vette’s expression gives nothing away. Chas’sul isn’t sure how this woman’s opinion of her got so important.

“If he kills Charnus, good.” she says, finally. “If he doesn’t, well, Sandor was perfectly happy to exterminate a bunch of kooky cultists living in the jungle that are about as dangerous as a loth-kitten. I won’t shed a tear for him. If Charnus has to focus on killing his apprentice, he’s not busy torturing anyone else. It’s the best I could do.”

Vette finishes off her crisp-munchies. Chas’sul shouldn’t care what the woman thinks of her, but now that she does, she hopes she hasn’t ruined it.

“That guy was a jerk anyway.” she finally says. “I don’t like that you sent him off to die, but I get it. If something like that had happened to me, who knows?”

“I’m pretty sure you’d have found a way to win cleanly. You’re better than me.”

She said it without thinking, but it’s true, She knows that she sent Sandor to his death, and she doesn’t care. She only hopes that he manages to hurt Charnus before he’s inevitably gruesomely killed. Honestly, she’s more worried about how this whole conversation is going to affect her (possible) friendship with Vette.

***

“Remind me again why we’re doing odd jobs for random Sith?” Vette asks while shooting a construction worker. He’s muttering something about forcing the worms to cower beneath him, so Chas’sul thinks it’s safe to assume he’s possessed.

“I’m doing it because I like to eat.” She replies over the noise of the plasma torch. “I’m not sure why you’re doing it.”

Honestly, this would be so much easier if Baras provided a salary. Instead he gives occasional bonuses, and expects his apprentices to fend for themselves. As if he doesn’t have money to throw around.

“Maybe we wouldn’t need so much food money if we cut down on the caf?” The hall is clear of the possessed and the insane for the moment.

“I suppose you want me to give up my kuvara toast, too?” She finishes the weld, sealing the tomb door shut. Of all the strange things she’s done, welding hinges shut in the Dark Temple is...not the strangest. Probably in the top ten, though.

“Is that it?” Vette asks.

“One more.”

Of course, of course the last one is where things go sideways. Kriffing door trying to give her a kriffing holocron. Why can’t she just have a normal time raiding an ancient tomb? This one doesn’t even have any k’lor’slugs. Worst. Tomb. Ever. Still, the dead Sith wearing the exceptionally stupid hat says some things that make, not sense, not really, but they at least bear thinking about. She tucks the holocron in her pack.

They head downstairs to get the thing they were actually looking for.

***

Vette whistles appreciatively.

“So, his taste in armor might be awful, but Darth Moodswings sure does have excellent taste in ships.”

As much as Chas’sul wants to remind her to use proper titles, she knows that Vette isn’t wrong. About the mood swings or about the ship. It’s a brand new Fury, fresh off the line, with all the latest bells and whistles. She can’t wait to fly it.

The droid that has been assigned to her is not, well, all that stable. So, he’ll probably fit right in. Twovee is astonished that she bothers to ask his designation, but he covers it fairly well. She does appreciate the number of times he tells her he’s not suited for combat. Whoever did the basic programming for the 2V series must have had experience with Sith.

Once the tour is over, she unpacks her four outfits and wonders what the hell to do with her time. They aren’t scheduled to leave for another six hours. Vette was muttering something to herself while building what appeared to be a nest in the engine room, and ‘Sul has written her off as a lost cause for at least until they take off.

Checking supplies it is. The med bay is stocked like someone expected a squad of commandos to take heavy casualties. There’s even a portable stasis field generator for life threatening stuff. She definitely approves, and hopes that none of it will ever be needed. The galley has enough caf to last them at least two weeks, which given their consumption is actually impressive. She’s checking the conservator when it hits her. A quick glance at the chrono tells her she has just enough time.

“Twovee! Grab the stasis field generator and meet me at the taxi stand!”

“Of course, master. Shall I procure any other medical supplies?” The droid is already heading towards the med bay.

“No, just move as fast as possible.”

She gets more than a few odd looks moving through Kaas City with the droid and the military grade stasis field generator, but she’s wearing her lightsabers, so no one says anything. Her destination in sight, she puts on her combat face, and the folks waiting in line decide, as one, that discretion is the better part of valor. She feels a bit bad about that, but whatever. This mission is important.

“My lord?” Maree asks as Twovee sets down the generator.

“I’m being deployed, Maree. I need every lava roll, crisp-munchie and sweetbread you’re willing to part with. I might literally die without your baked goods.”

“My lord, they’re not packaged for transport! They’ll spoil.”

The bakery fills with a gentle humming as Twovee turns on the stasis field. Maree suddenly gets it. She smiles, a real smile, not the one she gives to Sith.

“Never mind.”

***

The ship, as predicted, handles like a dream. She and Vette get her in orbit with no problems, and the navicomputer is smart enough to take over for them once they set a planetary destination. Vette is gently cooing at the ship as the hyperdrive kicks in. The ship doesn’t jerk or shudder, only the noise alerting them that they don’t technically exist in the universe any more. That and the blue tunnel they see out the viewport.

Now that they’re in hyperspace, Chas’sul sets a timer. She has a bet going with herself, and if it takes Vette too long, she’ll owe herself a credit. As time ticks by, she wonders how bloody Balmorra is going to get.

According to the chrono, four minutes and thirty eight seconds after they enter hyperspace, it happens.

“Boss, why is there a military grade med unit sitting outside the galley?”

She waits for it.

“Holy kriffing goddess, is this full of pastries?!”


	3. Meet The Creeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Balmora is terrible. It’s full of unexploded ordnance, trigger happy droids, really annoying cyborgs, idiots with stealth generators, and a whole bunch of republic soldiers pretending to be partisans. It’s also full of people her master wants her to slaughter. She’s trying not to think too hard about that part.

Space travel, she decides, is really boring. She passes the time by setting up the cargo bay for training, which does not take enough time to matter, and there are only so many times she can go through her saber forms. Twovee helpfully suggests holos, but it turns out the only thing the ship has are propaganda films she’s already seen and weren’t that good to start with.

Vette finishes doing whatever it is she’s been doing in the engine room and then at least she has company. They start making increasingly ridiculous bets with each other, which kills the boredom for several hours. Chas’sul ends up owing the twi’lek four credits and a lekku buff, but she’s calling it a win, because the now (theoretically) reformed thief owes her a back massage.

Twovee finds a pazaak deck somewhere, and that kills a few evenings. Vette is a preternaturally good bluffer, but ‘Sul has been counting cards since she learned how to play the game, so they’re pretty evenly matched. They convince Twovee to play, and his delightful earnestness adds a lot to the game. He wins a few hands and Vette starts teaching him how to gloat.

They both know that they’re heading to a warzone, so they might be trying to relax a little too hard.

When she runs out of other ideas, she meditates. She’s been thinking about the dark side a lot, lately. The Sith Order is built around the idea that the dark is better than the light, but she’s not so sure. So she meditates on the Code.

_Peace is a lie. There is only Passion.  
Through Passion I gain Strength.  
Through Strength I gain Power.  
Through Power I gain Victory.  
Through Victory my chains are Broken.  
The Force shall free me._

Try as she might, she can’t see any judgement on light or dark.

The holocron the stupid door in the stupid Dark Temple gave her is sitting on the table next to her bunk. Kel'eth Ur had talked about how the Sith should use the light side when he’d given it to her. Maybe he had answers, although she kind of doubted that anyone who wore a helmet with horns on it could possibly have worthwhile things to say.

She kneels on her meditation pillow and searches for an emotion. Sith usually go for anger, or fear, but she doesn’t think that will work for what she wants to do. She thinks about the last few days, and the feelings they’ve dredged up. There it is. Contentment. Not an emotion she’s ever meditated with, but it feels right.

She lets the gentle gladness flow through her, and then slowly focuses it on the holocron. Most Sith holocrons need to be forced open, but this one seems to need a gentler touch. After a few moments she hears a click, and it opens. Lord Kel'eth Ur appears before her in his helmeted glory.

“Hello, Lord Ur. Tell me about the light side.”

***

Balmora is terrible. It’s full of unexploded ordnance, trigger happy droids, really annoying cyborgs, idiots with stealth generators, and a whole bunch of republic soldiers pretending to be partisans. It’s also full of people her master wants her to slaughter. She’s trying not to think too hard about that part.

“So, are we killing this kid?” Vette asks. They aren’t currently being shot at, so it’s probably a good idea to talk about it while they can.

“I can’t think of a way to save him.” And force knows she’s been trying. It’s not the kid’s fault that his dad couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “I get it if that’s a line for you.”

“I’m not an assassin.”

“Yeah, well, me neither, but Baras didn’t get the notice about that.” she lies. Chas’sul knows that she’s a killer, but she doesn’t like that murder seems to be all that the Sith Order wants from her.

“You’re not, you know.” Vette says quietly. “An assassin. Assassins don’t worry about fairness.”

She doesn't say anything. Vette has a kind heart, and as long as she’s around, Chas’sul won’t do anything to get her to harden it.

“I can literally hear you thinking. You’re not. Sure, you’re a killer, but whatever. I can work with that. You’re at least decent about it. Killing this kid is bugging you.” Chas’sul starts to say something, anything, but Vette cuts her off. “Don’t even try to lie to me, I know your tells.”

It’s bothering her more than it should. She knows what Tremel would tell her to do. She knows what Baras has _told_ her to do. A proper Sith shouldn’t hesitate to kill someone just because they don’t deserve it. A proper Sith shouldn’t hesitate at all.

“At least I can make it quick.” It’s not much, but it’s all she can think of.

***

“My lord,” says the voice on her tactical comm, “Are you sure that this is wise? After all, Darth Baras does want Ensign Durmat silenced.”

She is not used to someone watching her work. Well, someone who isn’t Vette. Who is, thank the force, actually doing what she asked and slicing the files to see if the kid is telling the truth about the amnesia drug.

“Lieutenant Quinn, my associate is currently verifying Durmat’s claims. If he’s lying, I can still kill him.”

“Stop creeping at us.” Vette says, a bit loudly. Not that Chas’sul particularly disagrees. Quinn’s insistence on slicing cameras to monitor them is a bit much. She’s not shocked that the career military man doesn’t trust a zabrak and a twi’lek to get the job done, but she had been hoping to be surprised.

“Please inform your _associate_ that I am doing my duty for this operation, and that I will not cease doing so.” He puts just enough emphasis on ‘associate’ that she knows he means ‘ _slave_ ’. Honestly, he’s not bad for career army, but she’s on the chrono here and could really do without the microaggressions. He probably doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

“Vette, he’s doing his job. Lieutenant, please keep the comm chatter to a minimum.” Vette looks annoyed, and Chas’sul adds a mental note to get her a tactical comm. She’s only hearing one side of this.

“Done and done.” Vette says a moment later. “I’m sending the files to Lieutenant Micromanagement, but it looks like this works as advertised.”

“Excellent. Quinn, I’m going to wipe this kid’s mind. I understand you disapprove, but as I’m in command, it’s my decision.” She hopes appealing to chain of command will keep Quinn from being too passive aggressive about it. She kind of regrets flirting with him.

“Of course, my lord.”

She shoots poor Rylon Jr. full of weird brain drugs while Vette finishes up at the terminal. The poor kid is confused once his memory is gone, but she’s pretty sure he’ll be alright. They get out of there as quick as they can.

***

Later, when it’s all said and done, she’s not sure if anything really got accomplished. Sure, the spy is dead, and she’s done a bunch of solids for the Consolidation Corps, but the whole thing is more or less unsatisfying. Especially the damn Jedi. She feels like she should be prouder of actually capturing one of her order’s ancient enemies, but it just feels hollow.

Maybe it’s because Mashallon had seemed so convinced that ‘Sul was going to kill her. The knight had been shocked that she’d been taken into custody. Sure, she’d been prepared to kill her, but after it was clear that the poor thing had lost in every conceivable way, finishing her had seemed pointless.

So now she’s doing shots in the Sunken Sarlacc, not exactly feeling sorry for herself, but not feeling great either. Vette had picked up on the drinking alone vibe pretty quick, and went off to hustle some locals at pool. ‘Sul was keeping an eye on the situation, but she trusted that Vette could handle herself.

She admits to herself that she has no real desire to get drunker and pulls out her datapad. She didn’t have any work to do, but she did have a secret stash of trashy romance novels that never failed to cheer her up. Or at least distract her.

Something on the screen was flashing. Chas’sul didn’t get a lot of correspondence, so it took her an embarrassingly long time to realize it was a holomail. Curious, she opened it, expecting it to be junk. Instead, she found herself reading a highly detailed précis of Commander Rylon’s career and...life. There were links to old news articles, a couple of redacted mission reports, a bunch of holos of Rylon getting medals, and a detailed list of people Rylon had served with. Chas’sul checked the headers on the message. It had been sent to an address she had no memory of ever having.

Either Imperial Intelligence was messing with her, or Vette had sliced her datapad and given her a burner address. And then collected everything she could find on a guy they had murdered.

She looks closer, and eventually figures out that there’s family contact information buried in the message. She taps out a message of her own.

> _Durmat,  
>  I know you don’t remember anything about him, but your father was a good man. I hope this helps you learn more about him. Good luck in your new life. May the force be with you._  
> 

It hurts her to write the last bit, but this way, it won’t immediately ping as being from the Empire. She sends it before she overthinks anything. Vette looks like she’s getting ready to take the locals for everything they’ve got, so she clears out their tabs. Might as well let her friend keep her winnings. They saunter out together. Sending the file had lifted her crap mood.

“Thanks, Vette.”

“You’re welcome!” Vette’s voice is bubblier than usual. She’s got a thing about winning. “For what?”

“For letting me be a decent person.”

The twi’lek stops in the middle of the street and grabs her by the shoulders. ‘Sul isn’t sure what’s about to happen, but she knows for a fact that she can jump thirty meters from a standstill if she needs to. Not that she’s afraid of what might happen, mind you.

Then, Vette is leaning in against her and kriffing _hugging_ her and ‘Sul’s brain shuts down for a second. She can feel her hearts beating faster, but it doesn’t feel like panic and she suddenly realizes two things. One, she might be a bit drunker than she had thought; and two, Vette is really, really, _really_ warm. Then, as quick as it started, it’s over.

“Chas’sul I-don’t-actually-know-your-last-name! You are the most decent Sith I know, and you’re in the top five of decent people I know who aren’t Sith.” Vette smiles. “All I may or may not have done was given you a way to be a bit more decent.”

And then Chas’sul is blushing and everything is awkward and terrible. She’s red enough and it’s dark enough that maybe Vette didn’t notice it and when the _hells_ had this woman’s opinion of her become so important. They were just two friends against the universe, a couple of pals-

Oh.

Nope. No no no no no. She takes that train of thought and slams it down into the deepest part of her brain to never see the light of day again. It is wrong in so many ways, not the least of which is that she still technically owns her. Some Sith might go there, but she won’t.

“Okay. Done with feelings.” She says it more confidently than she feels. “Let’s go to Nar Shaddaa and cause some trouble.”

Vette whoops and punches the air, and Chas’sul figures out just how screwed she really is.

***

They make it back to the ship without further incident. Chas’sul is slowly leeching the booze out of her system with the force, because drunk piloting is the worst, well, okay, currently the second worst idea in the galaxy. She figures she’s at the equivalent of a half of a beer when she sees him.

“Vette, can you prep the ship for launch?”

“Yeah, and we really should name her.” Vette has a point, there. She’ll worry about that after she finds out what Captain Quinn wants. He probably just needs a signature or something. She walks over to the lounge area where he’s waiting.

“My lord,” he starts, and she still doesn’t like how that sounds. She’s not a lord yet, gods damn it. “may I have a moment of your time to discuss two things?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you. First, I would like to apologize for my behavior during the recent missions. As I’m sure you know, I owe Darth Baras a great deal, and in my desire to repay him, it did not occur to me that I might come off as overbearing. I want to assure you that I in no way doubt your abilities as either a leader or a Sith.”

Well, that was unexpected. She’s not quite sure how to respond. She decides to go with her gut.

“Apology accepted, Captain, though I’m not sure one is necessary. I’ve been working with Vette long enough that I admit I’d forgotten what working with others was like. I’m sure that didn’t help with the stress of this assignment.” It seems like her gut wants to mix a bit of truth in with her usual bantha shit. She does appreciate the apology. “What was the second item?”

“It concerns my next posting, my lord. Aiding your mission on this planet has reawakened the ambition I began my career with-” He actually pauses dramatically, even though Chas’sul is pretty sure she knows where this is going. “-to make the most profound impact possible for the Empire.”

“Welcome back to life, Quinn.” Oh, force, she doesn’t want to encourage this guy, but he’s so eager.

“That is how it feels, my lord. I cannot think of a more glorious and honorable way to make a difference in the galaxy than to serve you.”

Okay, he’s laying it on pretty thick, now. She knows how the Empire feels about nonhumans. There is nothing ‘glorious’ or ‘honorable’ about serving under a zabrak, even if she’s a Sith.

“I’m here to pledge myself to you.” he continues, “I’m ready and willing to serve in whatever capacity you see fit.”

She puts on her considering face, but it’s only to make him sweat. She already knows that she’s going to let him join, because if she doesn’t, she might not see the next one coming. Honestly, her master must think she’s an idiot. Quinn has been stuck on Balmorra for ten years, gets the opportunity to get whatever posting he wants, and then chooses to side with a zabrak apprentice? Not likely. Baras must want him to keep an eye on her.

“Well, Captain, welcome aboard. I’m sure your skills will be invaluable in our future missions.”

“I hope so, my lord.” She can almost feel him congratulating himself on fooling the alien. Does he not realize that she _knows_ her master runs a spy ring? She’s never done counterintelligence before, but if Baras is spying on her, she might as well control the information he’s getting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took Quinn's lines about wanting to join the Warrior's crew directly from the game. They're just too over the top not to use.
> 
> Please don't think that the updates for this are going to keep coming at a fast pace. I tend to write in fits and spurts, and I don't want to get people's hopes up. I'll keep them coming as fast as I can, I just can't guarantee that they'll stay this fast.


	4. Nar Shaddaa Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’s gonna be a Lord someday, and she wants to be one of those Lords that are all honorable and righteous and whatnot. The kind of Lord she hasn’t seen much of, but she’s sure _must_ be out there somewhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of trigger warnings: this chapter contains a slur for sex workers, and dismemberment is briefly described.
> 
> Translations from Mando'a:  
> aruetii - non-Mandalorians  
> chakaar'e - thieves, petty criminals, scumbags  
> di'kut - idiot  
> haryc b'aalyc - tired and emotional, euphemism for drunk  
> Mando'a - the Mandalorian language  
> Mando'ade - the sons and daughters of Mandalore, the Mandalorian people  
> tihaar - triple distilled fruit liquor with a high alcohol content  
> tiingilar - a spicy stew  
> usen’ye - the rudest possible way to tell someone to go away  
> vode - friends or comrades

Vette is not happy about Quinn. She makes this clear by tormenting him with weaponized tomfoolery and military grade puns. It’s something to see, and, truth be told, it helps pass the time. The captain is busy familiarizing himself with the ship in a disturbingly methodical way. He starts on the bridge, then makes his way to the weapons locker, and then the medbay.

He tried to examine the engine room, but Vette chased him out with a hydrospanner in one hand and her other on one of her pistols. It was still holstered, but Quinn seemed to get the message. He occasionally makes eyes at it when he thinks Vette isn’t looking, but she’s like a mama tuk’ata protecting her pups.

He’s done indexing the ship by morning on their third day.

“My lord, I have familiarized myself with the ship, and if I may, I have a few suggestions.”

“Sure, I’ll hear them out.”

“First, there appears to be a medical grade stasis-” he starts, but Chas’sul needs to nip this before it becomes _a thing._

“Do not touch it. The pastry field stays where it is.” She points a finger at the shocked captain to emphasise her point.

“My lord, that field generator is designed to prevent death, not to hold baked goods.” He’s visibly shocked. She’s pretty sure he thought that the pastry field was Vette’s fault. “If it continues to be used constantly, it will fail.”

She didn’t know that. That could be a problem. Spoiled lava rolls are unacceptable.

“Find a solution that allows us to have fresh pastries onboard, and I’ll hear it out.” she says decisively. A thought occurs to her. “Any solution involving baking our own pastries will be rejected.”

“I’ll...see what I can do, my lord.”

“Excellent. What else?”

“Ah, the ship doesn’t currently have a duty roster. While I understand that with such a small crew, that may seem excessive, but I believe that it is important for us to ensure that if something is amiss, we know who is responsible.”

On it’s face, the idea isn’t bad. But she has a sneaking suspicion that Quinn wants to use it to get back at Vette. He’s probably figured out the tasks she doesn’t like doing, and he seems petty enough to assign them to her.

“A chore chart isn’t a bad idea.” she allows. “I think I have a lightboard somewhere, we can set it up in the lounge.” She smiles. “I feel like it’s important for all of us to be able to do anything necessary onboard, so we should change up duties every week. How does that sound?”

“Cross training is an excellent idea, my lord. That is all I have for the moment.”

She wonders if he’s sincere about wanting to change out jobs. Time will tell, she supposes. At least he isn’t trying to impose some sort of schedule on them. He’s keeping to military habits, but now that Chas’sul has tasted the freedom to sleep in, she’s never going back. Oh six hundred is a stupid time, and if she were Empress, she’d probably ban it.

After that, Quinn is surprisingly unobtrusive. He’ll engage in conversation, but he doesn’t feel the need to butt in. She feels a little bad about expecting the worst from him.

***

Day five of the trip finds her in the hold demolishing training targets. She’s using practice sabers, because she’s not a complete idiot, but it’s just not the same. She’s listening to _The Challenge of Blood_ , which always gets her in the mood for combat. It may be louder than is strictly necessary.

“What in the name of the fourth Correlian Hell is that?” is all the warning she gets before Vette kills the music.

“It’s opera. The Challenge of Blood.” Chas’sul explains. “It tells the story of Tulak-”

“Do you listen to anything that isn’t weird Sith historical opera?”

“...sometimes I listen to marches? To help me get to sleep?” She knows that the march thing is weird, but something about the beat helps her relax.

“Goddess save me. Is that all you like?” Vette looks genuinely upset. This is unacceptable.

“Um, I don’t actually know?” she says quietly. “I was at the Academy since I was little, and the only things they really allow are marches and operas.”

She’s not embarrassed, it’s just that she really doesn’t have a lot of experience outside of the Academy. Baras has kept them busy enough that her personal exploration is pretty much limited to baked goods and picking which of her couple of outfits she’s wearing that day.

“What, really?” She’s always surprised at how fast Vette can shift between emotions. She’s gone from annoyance to concern in less time than it takes to activate a lightsaber. If she wasn’t force blind, she'd make a _terrifying_ Sith.

“Really. I mean, I heard some stuff when we were on Vaiken, but there was so much going on there that I didn’t really pay attention.” Vaiken Spacedock had been full of conflicting emotion. She’s gotten better at tuning it out, but at the time, it had been overwhelming.

“Okay. Give me an hour. I am fixing this. Opera is great and all, but there is so much more music out there.” For all that she comes off as chipper, Vette’s presence in the force is usually really guarded. Now, though, all Chas’sul can feel coming from her is _determination_. Music must be really important to her.

“Okay. Where are we doing this? I’m pretty sure the engine room won’t work.”

“Nope. The lounge. There’s speakers in there, and the acoustics are better than in the rest of the ship. We still need to name her, though. It’s starting to feel rude calling her ‘the ship’.”

“I’ll add it to the chore chart.”

She finishes up in the hold and hits the refresher. She’s about to spend a bunch of time with Vette, and she’s hyper-aware of how sweaty she is. Getting used to Quinn had taken her mind off of the twi’lek, but she’s still nervous. She’s pretty sure that they’re friends now, and she doesn’t want to screw that up.

Especially not over some stupid inappropriate crush.

Vette is waiting for her in the lounge. She’s twirling a pen in her hand, and she has a slip of flimsi on the table. Apparently they’re going to be taking notes. The twi’lek smiles at her, and she’s pretty sure that Vette can tell she’s nervous. No one has ever offered to teach her something fundamentally useless before. She tells herself the nerves are just from that. If she tells herself that enough, it might even start to be true.

“Okay. I’m gonna play a bunch of stuff for you. If you like it or hate it, _tell me_. After we wide band for a while, we can start drilling down to what really gets you going. Sound good?”

“Let’s do this.”

Intellectually, Chas’sul knows that there is a lot of music in the galaxy. She’s not prepared for how different it all is. Some of it gets immediately rejected; glimmik seems soulless, dusk is just too introspective. Sometimes something sounds interesting to her, but for some reason doesn’t stick. Some is _very_ hit or miss; jizz mostly annoys her, but every now and then it comes off as being wonderful.

Core drive and heavy isotope show a lot of promise, even though Vette clearly thinks both styles are less than awesome. She falls instantly for sparkle-bop, the energy of the music is great, and the lyrics are surprisingly meaningful.

“Okay, I think I’ve got you. I’ll put together some lists of things that you can listen to whenever. Just promise me you’ll keep a cone out for things you like, yeah? I can be in charge of your fashion sense, but I’m not gonna expand that to your musical tastes.” Vette was smiling as she said it, and ‘Sul was sure that she’d get recommendations from her for the rest of their lives.

“Thank you, Vette.” She’s not sure how to say what she wants to. “No one’s cared about things I like in a long time.”

They hadn’t turned the music off yet, sparkle-bop was still playing in the background. Some musician pretending they were a teenager was singing about wishing they had someone’s girlfriend. She can feel Vette in the force, feel her wanting to acknowledge Chas’sul but not wanting to make a big deal out of it.

“Just, you know, thanks.” She turns to leave. Vette reaches to turn off the music, but she must be a little distracted, because the sparkle-bop stops, but it’s replaced by something - she doesn’t have words for it. It’s raw, and so angry, she can tell that in the first few seconds. She can almost feel the rage in the singer’s voice.

“This.” It’s all she can manage to say. She can’t understand the words, partly because they’re shouted and partly because she’s pretty sure they aren’t using basic. Something about it feels right, like how she feels when she’s fighting. Or, more like how she feels when she’s fighting to save someone.

“Seriously?” Vette looks, not horrified, but, concerned, maybe. “Mandopunk? I’m pretty sure this stuff is banned in most systems as a crime against musicality.”

“It’s _breathtaking_.”

Mandopunk isn’t banned in that many systems, it turns out. Like the Mandalorians themselves, it’s spread to just about everywhere, and, most importantly, _it takes no kriffing prisoners_. They sing in Mando'a, mostly, but not always.

It surprises her how many fans aren’t Mando’ade. More surprising is that the bands don’t care. She reads about incidents where the band will actually stop playing to break up a fight between Mandalorians and aruetii. (A word she literally just learned. It means not a mandalorian.) Folks on the Holonet share lyric translations, sometimes with commentary about what a particular phrase signifies in Mandalorian culture.

She gets tired of trying to find reliable translations and downloads language lessons. She’s always been quick to pick up languages, and being able to understand Megablast Death Engine lyrics is way more motivating than wanting to please an Overseer. It’ll probably come in handy in her daily life, too. After all, the Empire hires a lot of Mandalorians.

A day out from Nar Shaddaa, Captain Quinn sends a huge file to her datapad. He’s built a briefing packet about the moon longer than the Chronicle of Sorzus Syn. She reads it, because knowledge is power, and because reading long texts is second nature to an academy graduate. This is more useful than most of the things she’d been forced to read, and she can read and immerse herself in the music at the same time.

***

“Why do we always end up helping some Imperial clean up their mess?” Vette asks while they’re taking cover from an Exchange kill squad.

“We like having people owe us favors?”

She’s eyeing the angles, and things aren’t looking great. Nar Shaddaa hallways have low ceilings, and it’s really cramping her style. She’s concerned, but not worried. They’ve already taken out the other kill squads, and Ukabi and his lieutenants. These idiots must have missed the announcement that the Exchange was done. As long as they don’t get any backup, she and Vette should be fine.

That’s when she hears the unmistakable clanking of heavy battle droid legs. She spins around and sure enough, somehow the Exchange has gotten it’s hands on a kriffing AR-34 enforcer. At least this one looks a bit worn down. It’s marching down the hall in that odd three legged shuffle that heavy droids have, and if it gets close enough open up on them, it’s going to get ugly.

The kill squad is hunkered down behind a low duracrete barrier wall, it’s just tall enough that she can’t do her usual leap-and-kill. The droid has pretty much a straight shot at them. She eyeballs it at twenty meters away, and that’s nothing to her. She’s got an idea, though so she’ll let it get six or seven meters closer. 

“Vette, on my mark, I’m going to need you to distract those idiots from shooting me.”

“You gonna go make friends with that enforcer?”

“Yes, and then I think I’ll introduce it to our kill squad.” She judges the distance. “Mark.”

Oh, how the force sings when she leaps through the air. Usually, she’d arc upwards, but she doesn’t want to knock herself out on the ceiling. Instead, she aims for a spot halfway to the droid and about halfway up the wall. She’s strong, even without the force. With the force, she’s a reckoning. She twists and rolls mid-jump so that her feet hit the wall. She channels all of the hate she’s built up against the Exchange and pushes it out behind her, rocketing toward the droid. You want to kill innocents? Then you face her.

A half second before she hits the droid she activates her lightsabers. Red and green light up the hallway and she’s in motion, always in motion. She almost dances around the droid, keeping it’s attention on her. Vette is huddled behind a crate keeping safe from the kill squad, but the enforcer would have a clear shot at her. 

Fortunately, it’s focused on her. It’s firing both of it’s blasters at her, and she’s trying to deflect as many as she can. She took Mashallon’s lightsaber on a whim, she’s not quite used to fighting with it yet, so she’s not as successful as she’d like. She feels bolts hitting her armor, and she lets that fuel her rage. There is no need for a gang to have a droid like this. It’s only purpose is to slaughter, and the Exchange uses them against civilians.

She takes that rage and manifests it as action.

Quicker than the eye can follow, she slashes with her right hand. The green blade slices through the blaster barrels, neutralizing that threat. Her left hand wields Naga Sadow’s lightsaber. She’s ambidextrous, but only because she’s been trained since before she can really remember to use either hand. She’s always favored her left when allowed.

The AR-34 is famous for it’s cortosis gauntlets. Chas’sul knows that her lightsaber isn’t going to do much against them. They will, however, absolutely annihilate the thin welds that connect the gauntlets to the droid’s arms. At the same time she’s crippling the blasters, she skids the red blade along the droid’s forearms. She senses the tiny give that the weld causes, and slices downwards.

The clang is really satisfying. She can count on one hand the number of duelists she knows who could have done that. The droid is trying to figure out a way to attack her, but, and she knows that no matter how long she lives, she will never stop saying this, she has disarmed it. She smiles, knowing how much the Exchange had to have paid to get such a rare droid.

She’s still angry, which is good, because she needs that anger for the next part of her plan. Lifting the droid with the force, she hurls it at the kill squad with all the might she can muster. She pauses for one second and then leaps after it, knowing that the squad is too busy avoiding her impromptu projectile to blast her.

After that, it’s just another fight. When it's over, Vette goes through their pockets for loose credit chips and they head off to cause more problems for Rathari.

***

Lord Rathari turns out to make everything more complicated than it really needs to be. It’s a Sith thing, like wearing capes. Why do it the easy way when you can add seventeen unnecessary steps and a few betrayals? Chas’sul is nothing if not adaptable, but having to recruit pub soldiers wears her patience thin.

“You think these guys are actually gonna help you?” Vette asks. She’s not being sarcastic, she’s genuinely curious.

She _had_ spared them, and no one would have known it was an Imperial who did the deed, so they owed her. Hells, they had said they owed her. Naughlen, the captain in charge, had felt honest when he agreed to the favor.

“Naughlen seems decent enough, and I’m not asking him to do anything against his precious democracy.” She really hopes she’s calling this right. She needs backup, and the local troops all work for the guy she needs to get rid of. It’s either use the Republic or hire some mercs, and she is not made of credits. She’s just glad Quinn isn’t with them. She doesn’t want word of this to get to Baras.

“Look, I know that you gotta do a lot of stuff that you wouldn’t normally do because Darth Grumpypants tells you to. I’m just worried that this’ll get you in trouble.” Vette takes a deep breath. Chas’sul almost doesn’t hear her next words. “You know, unless there aren’t any witnesses.”

Chas’sul stops. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t considered killing the pubs once they’re done with the assault, but that’s not right. She’s gonna be a Lord someday, and she wants to be one of those Lords that are all honorable and righteous and whatnot. The kind of Lord she hasn’t seen much of, but she’s sure _must_ be out there somewhere. Killing her allies after telling them she’d spare them doesn’t seem like a good step towards that. Vette obviously isn’t okay with it, but she looks like she’ll go with it if that’s what they need to do.

She knows that if she kills them, she’ll never be the Sith she wants to be, and she’ll lose Vette’s friendship. Neither of those options is even close to acceptable. She glances at her friend, who is staring mostly at the floor, desperately avoiding eye contact with Chas’sul. She wonders how much it took for her to say that.

“Vette, can I hug you?” she asks. She’s not going to assume that she can, even though she’s ninety percent sure that friends hug.

“Sure?”

She wraps her arms around Vette, carefully avoiding her lekku. She pulls her in close and squeezes. Vette is just as amazingly warm as she remembers. The twi’lek is tense, for a second, but then she leans in and allows herself to be held. Chas’sul takes all of the contentment she feels when she’s around Vette and pours it back in to the woman. Even the force blind can sometimes feel things like that. After both too much and not enough time, ‘Sul loosens the hug and pulls back to look Vette in the eyes.

“Vette, thank you, but don’t ever cross one of your lines for me. I won’t ask for that, and I’ll hate myself if you do.” She holds the hug for another beat, and then lets go.

Vette breathes for a moment and then blurts out. “I just don’t want you to get shot for treason! That’s a thing the Empire does, right?”

“For Sith, it’s usually beheading, but if I’m accused, I’ll deal with it.” She smiles. “It’s my choice. It’s how the person I want to be would do it.”

In the end, things go smoothly. The pubs fight well and then fuck off to wherever it is that pubs drink, Rathari loses spectacularly and pledges his allegiance to her, and the spy that her master wants dead is, well, dead. An all around win, as far as she’s concerned. She comms Quinn to let him know they’ll be leaving in the morning. She’s already planning her answers for when he inevitably asks how the mission went.

“Drinks?” Vette asks, hopefully. “I feel like we should celebrate.”

They end up in a funky little dive off the Promenade. It doesn’t seem to cater to Imperials, pubs, or locals, instead, anyone and everyone can be seen at one of the tables. There are a few pubs eyeballing a table of Imperial pilots across the room, a scrum of rowdy Mandalorians in a corner, and what seems like a bunch of freighter crews playing some game with a couple of chance cubes. Chas’sul isn’t sold on it, but she knows that it’s their destination when Vette’s eyes light up.

Three drinks later and she is sold on the place. The pubs and the pilots have started trading good natured insults, but their commanders are keeping them in line. The freighter crews started losing clothing in the last round of betting, so that’s getting interesting. The Mando’ade have taken over the jukebox and are playing some boppy thing that she’s really getting into. It’s raw and energetic, but a bit less shrieky than the mandopunk she’s been listening to. She adds mandopop to her list of likes and generally enjoys herself.

One of the Mandos gets up and makes his way towards their table. Another one follows him and it looks like he’s trying to stop his friend. Chas’sul nudges Vette, not wanting her friend to be surprised by a hundred kilos of armored drunk guy. He’s not staggering, but he has been drinking since before they got there.

“Ladies!” he doesn’t quite shout. All the time they spend on battlefields make Mandos really good at making themselves heard.

“Leave them be, Kaex.” The other Mando smiles apologetically. ‘Sul can’t help but admire the matching scars under his eyes. “Sorry about that. We’re celebrating a good hunt, and Kaex here hit the tihaar pretty hard.”

“No problem.” Vette chimes in. She’s trying to make this painless. Chas’sul isn’t so sure it’ll work, but maybe his buddy can keep him in line.

“No shame in being haryc b'aalyc,” Chas’sul adds, “as long as it doesn’t cause a problem.”

Scars looks impressed that she knows the slang for drunk, but it seems to set Kaex off a bit.

“Trust me,” he says, “I’m not tired or emotional.”

“They don’t want to fight, Kaex. Let's go back to the vode and grab some tiingilar.” Scars tries to guide his friend away from their table. He’s not succeeding. Part of her brain is tracking every one of Kaex’s movements, but the other part is mad that no one told her this place served food.

“Before we go, I just wanna know,” Kaex leers at them, “how much to rent you two?”

She can feel Vette stiffen besider her, but she pushes that thought to the side.

“We’re not sex workers.” She puts on her best murder face and makes a shooing gesture. “Now, usen’ye, di’kut.”

“Are you sure?” he sneers back at them. “I got more money than you chakaar’e are likely to ever see, even if you did take up whoring.”

“Say one more word,” she says coldly, “and it will cost you an arm and a leg.”

Scars is taking a step back, obviously staying out of the fight that’s about to start. Kaex puts his hands on his hips, projecting the bravado that only a drunk Mandalorian can muster. Chas’sul just stares at him, completely calm and unblinking.

“One. More. Word.” He snickers as he says it.

She’s on her feet in an instant, her lightsabers ignited while she’s in motion. She’s been watching him, noticing that his pistol is holstered on his right hip. She’s already striking before Kaex even realizes that the fight has started. He’s wearing armor, but it’s just durasteel, and it stops her lightsaber about as well as flimsi would. She brings the red blade up through his right arm where it meets the shoulder, and at the same time swipes the green across his left leg a centimeter below the hip.

The cantina goes quiet for a split second, but then goes back to their drinking and gambling. Kaex is screaming. Her bladework was fast enough to not fully cauterize the wounds, which means he’s got a few minutes before he bleeds to death. The shock will kill him much faster. She looks over at Scars.

“If you hurry, the doctors might be able to reattach your friend’s limbs.” She is still utterly calm. Vette, on the other hand, has drawn her pistols, but she’s only aiming at the floor. Her blue skin is a few shades paler than normal.

“He’s not my friend,” Scars says casually, “and if he couldn’t keep ‘em, he didn’t deserve them. I am gonna get him to a doc, though. Thanks for that.”

He’s field dresses the wounds as he talks, his motions practiced. Kaex is still screaming, but no one, not even the other Mando’ade in the corner, seem to care. Kaex must be this charming all the time. She hears a siren outside, it seems that someone, probably the bouncer, has called an ambulance. The medics move with purpose and get Kaex on a stretcher quickly. One of them grabs the severed limbs and tosses them in a stasis field, and suddenly Chas’sul really wants a pastry.

“Vette, put away your blasters and let’s go grab some fried dough.”

Vette nods absently. She’s distracted, almost like she’s in shock, and Chas’sul has no idea what to do. This isn’t the first time she’s cut a limb off of something. Sure, usually it’s the limb of someone her master wants dead, but it’s never bothered her friend this much. Before, Vette has always kept it together, even in the most stress-inducing fights that Baras sends them to.

Oh.

This isn’t a fight for Baras. This wasn’t even a fight for Vette. This was a fight that Chas’sul started because some drunk Mando had assumed her friend was a sex worker.

She needs to fix this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't take credit for the name Megablast Death Engine. That honor goes to [SemperDraca](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SemperDraca/pseuds/SemperDraca). If you're not reading [Iustitia](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6214225/chapters/14237338), you should go and do that right now. I can take credit for realizing that Megablast Death Engine is an _awesome_ name for a band.
> 
> All of the genres mentioned in the chapter exist either in canon or in Legends, with the exception of mandopunk and mandopop, which should totally be things.


End file.
